The Deep

by EJWhelan86

Set in dusty District 10 in Panem, the children of the Tyler family come to grips with the struggle of life under the tyrant President Snow. Though relying on each other for comfort, strength and courage, Moxie, Bess, Arvensis, Elka, Lenox and Striker Tyler begin to see their own kindred connections fall apart as the perils of growing up become as real as the deadly Hunger Games.

6. Chapter 6: The 19th Annual Hunger Games

CHAPTER SIX: The 19th Annual Hunger Games

The Capitol

The morning broke fresh on the city. Evidence of last night's reverie littered the streets, the broken wine bottles in pieces from gutter to gutter, sparkling in the dewy morning light.

Atoka Menzies had not slept at all the night before, and even now she lay in her bed in the Training Center. She turned over the words Romulus Cane had said to her in private the evening before. Love isn't going to save your Tributes, Miss Menzies. Have a back-up plan. The truth: even after decent training scores and some high praise around the Capitol for their interview performances, Seeder and Flaxie McKay were nowhere near to having sponsors. In less than twelve hours, she shuddered, they were going into an arena that would probably be the last place on this earth that they saw. Just as soon as one of them was killed, any sentimental moments they'd performed for the Capitol and all of Panem would be silenced with them. She didn't have a back-up plan either. For Atoka, the Games were still too real.

She touched her face and felt Denton's clammy and cold hands on her cheek, she could even see his pale face. I'm not going to kill you, Ato. You're not going to die at my hands. He was right, of course. We're going to get mended and give them a fight to remember, or they can just send in a mutt to finish us off. But I've seen enough of death and I'm not going to cause yours. Atoka rolled to her side and tried not to think of watching that awful tidal wave looming above them on the center isle. It had been all they could do to rush under the cover of the Cornucopia before that wave broke on them. She lost him for a minute and cried out when the cannon fired, but later, after crying a bit, she'd found him lying on the beach covered in sand and still breathing. She remembered the strain it was on her tired and injured body to pull him back into the Cornucopia as the night fell so he wouldn't be left on the beach. And his last words… Atoka shook her head in a vain attempt to clear it of the memory, but he spoke even from beyond this life. Tell Rider I'm going to kill him if he doesn't pluck up an' marry Josie Keith. An' promise me you'll do 10 proud an' bring 'em home.

"Bring'm home," Atoka repeated to the silence. Her Avox servant tapped lightly on the door and entered, carrying with her a glass of chalky white liquid – protein drink, as Atoka always ordered on the opening day of the Games – and a citrus fruit on a crystal platter. She set these on the side table and went straight away to the closet to lay out an outfit for Atoka. It was a light green dress of sheer fabric with a ribbed golden corset underneath and a matching golden skirt ending an inch above her knees. After the Avox left, Atoka managed to push herself up to sitting position and to force down the fruit and protein drink. She'd wait for her make-up team to arrive and pounce on her before she got out of bed. On the other bedside table was a remote clicker, and she took it now in her empty hand and pointed it at the glass wall to her right. She clicked a yellow button and the morning light of the Capitol fell away as a calmer scene replaced it: a gentle breeze tossed the dull green grasses from side to side, and the aching branches of the Old Fifty Yards Tree groaned as they clapped their fingers together, swaying in the early morning. Atoka sighed.

The Ranches

Deane kicked the lump at his feet as the cock crowed. Slowly, Thatcher rolled over, offered his brother a one-finger salutation and drifted back to sleep. Deane kicked him again. "Git up, Thatch." The fourteen year old ranch-hand threw the saddle blanket off himself, scratched an itch he had every morning, then stood up and grabbed a clean pair of blue jeans. He pulled these on and found a halfway clean shirt to button up, while the cows in the stall beside him lowed as they got up to their feet. Thatcher, however, didn't move. Deane cussed him out in his head but finished dressing and then went to work unlatching the door to the cow stall. Two calves and their mother trotted out and narrowly avoided the lump on the ground that was Thatcher Scythe. Deane Scythe went down a stall and repeated the process, and he continued to do as much until there was a small procession of cattle heading out of the barn and into the ranch grounds. Thatcher was up and stretching when the last pair set out for the great outdoors. Like the twelve year old he was, Thatcher hadn't taken his clothes off the night before and now his jeans and shirt were wrinkled beyond help. Deane cussed his brother out again, knowing later he'd have the extra task of ironing the clothes to keep from facing the wrath of the Cow-men. Mr. Burliss, their cow-man, wasn't treasured for his kindness. Deane would have to forgo his own shower time before supper in order to keep Thatch from another whipping. "Git on, lazy!" Deane kicked toward his brother, who grabbed his hat and staggered toward the barn entrance. Deane rolled up their saddle blankets and straw pillows, fastened them into a roll with the leather belt strap they had won off Gordy the night before and hung the roll on their hook at the barn entrance before heading out to the feeding ground to make sure their livestock – well, Mr. Burliss' livestock in their care – had their share.

In the Feeding Hall, the cowboy foreman handed out their schedules for the day, and today they had a big hole in the center of the page; it was labeled HUNGER GAMES (mandatory). Ranch-hands either appreciated or hated these days when the Hunger Games interrupted their working day. It meant they had to make up the work later in the evening, rather than being finished after supper. No card games would be happening tonight, no rope-making, no stealing out of their barns to flirt with the girls. Tonight, because of the accursed Hunger Games, they'd work until the job was done. Deane dug into his meal of grits, sausage and gravy, and a fresh-made buttermilk biscuit. Tin cups of coffee were being had and inevitably spilled all over the Feeding Hall tables, and men and boys were groaning about the load of work they'd be carrying today. As Deane thought about it, the Hunger Games were a strange thing for ranch-hands and cowboys alike. Of course, everybody had to put their names into the reaping bowls and everybody, technically was eligible for the Games (ages 11-17… well and after Romulus Cane's shocking announcement the night before, now it would be from ages 12-18), but the protection of the cow-men made the reaping of a cowboy or ranch-hand essentially impossible. The Capitol knew that if they reaped too many ranch-hands and cowboys, productivity in District 10 would drop almost to non-existence, which meant the Capitol suffered. No one in their right minds would let that happen – because the Capitol ought never suffer like the Districts – so their names went into the reaping bowls but rarely ever came out of them. Folks said it had happened once and the ranch-hand had almost won. Mr. Burliss had been heard saying, once, "A little hope is effective. Too much is dangerous." In the end, it'd been more than fourteen years since a ranch-hand or cowboy had been reaped out of District 10. The Games became a gruesome joke at the Ranches, and the folk who could be reaped into them become something less than human.

Deane sat mostly by himself. Gordy usually came round to taunt him or Thatch and sometimes it was with his cronies, but for the large part, Deane kept to himself and only bothered anyone when provoked. We're here to work, not make chums, he reassured himself. And this time was a time when he could think and drift away from his physical surroundings. He and Thatch had been here since they were young, though not always with Mr. Burliss. He'd been a rising star at the Ranches, but no one talked about how that had happened. There were plenty of rumors that it hadn't been a clean rise, that there had been quite a bit of sabotage and even some mysterious sudden death accidents in which many cowboys around him fell victim to any number of fatalities. Whatever it was, rumor had it that he'd begged, borrowed and stolen his way to the role of cow-man. When he bought Deane and Thatch, they were working for the meanest cow-man known on the Ranches. Mr. Farnsworth was a fat man, sausage-like fingers and sharp hawk-like eyes. He often carried a whip with him and made surprise visits to the fields to catch any ranch-hands off guard. Several he had whipped to an inch of their lives and some of the cripple ranch-hands were employs of Mr. Farnsworth. On the T.V. he was a completely different person, putting on a kindly cow-man façade and parading his most pathetic ranch-hands around to show how generous he was to all the "small folk" needing looking after in 10. To his credit, he never killed anyone.

Thatch and Deane had been with Mr. Farnsworth since they'd been picked up from the open Plains where they'd been scratching a living off the land. They'd been wandering like the natives in the Wild just following the fence and looking for ways around it. There had been a life that was little more than a flicker in the memory – that dying light of the candle before it putters out for good – where they had lived in the ruins of a city no one remembered the name of: a city in the center of District 10 with an old Frontier fort along the river. For reasons they couldn't remember, the two boys had been forced to leave the city and wander in the open Plains, finding some refuge in various burnt out towns and crumbling cities along the way. One still had a welcome sign from ages past: "Welcome to Texhoma" it said. That was about four years ago, after nearly four years of wandering. Some weeks later, Deane remembered, a band of cowboys had found them on the road outside of Texhoma, they'd questioned them, discovered they belonged to no one and were not from those parts, then had taken them up on their horses and brought them back to be auctioned off at the Ranches. An older cow-man had wanted them first, but he died pretty soon after, mysteriously, and as a dowry for the marriage of his widow, Mr. Farnsworth had taken Deane and Thatch. They were, after all, property.

Two years into working for Mr. Farnsworth, Thatch put them at risk by letting some Prairie Dog girls sneak onto the land and steal a hen and a pair of hares. At first Deane had thought the excuse they'd made was going to save them, but of course that was false and Thatch was out of work for almost three weeks while layin' up in the infirmary. Some woman was called in from the Town, Cordwip they called her, and she nursed him back. He'd done too much to set Mr. Farnsworth back on quota so he'd been sold in the spring auction to Mr. Burliss. Not long after, Deane had managed to get himself sold to Mr. Burliss as well. They were not going to be parted.

Deane had time to think about all this while he worked on his meal. The workday ahead of him and Thatch wasn't going to be bad. They had field duty before and after their schedule read HUNGER GAMES (mandatory).

The Town

Like with other parts of District 10, the day the 19th Annual Hunger Games began rendered studying at school impractical. For Moxie and Bess Tyler, the schedule for the day read as follows:

9:00-9:45 – Home Economics (Mrs. Tallhart)

9:50-10:35 – Construction I (Mrs. Bulmer)

10:40-11:25 – Arithmetic (Mrs. Gordon)

11:30-12:15 – Construction II (Mrs. Bulmer)

12:15-12:30 – Recess

12:30-7:30 – HUNGER GAMES: DAY 1*

*mandatory

Moxie figured that Home Ec would be a waste of time because even here in the schoolyard, all anyone was talking about was the Games. Construction I and II might be possible if only because it involved physical work. Arithmetic would be a waste; no one wanted to think about adding and subtracting when the Games were in store, but for those students – and there were a handful – who regarded the Games as an awful time in their lives, Arithmetic might be a great escape. Recess, though, was bound to be a disaster. In the past, overzealous students had attempted to re-enact the most violent scenes of the past Hunger Games' during recess, which had landed several students in bad shape as unwanted Tributes of the schoolyard rendition of the Games. This morning as they waited to be called into the school by their teachers, most of the girls around Moxie and Bess were talking about the Tributes and who they thought would win. Moxie didn't want to talk about the Games, though. She knew that the only reason anyone did was because they were relieved to find themselves in District 10, going to school, rather than in the Capitol likely going to die. She was seriously regretting her enthusiasm from more than a week ago, on the day of the Reaping, when she'd happily and excitedly recalled Miss Atoka Menzies' win in the 7th Games, twelve years ago, as replayed for them each year on this day. The pre-game show was called Prelude to the Games, and it was broadcast differently to each of the Districts. For those who had never had a Victor, the compilation video shown to the Capitol was shown. For Districts like 1, 2, 4 and 7 who'd had several Victors, compilations of their victories were shown; and for 10, it was only Atoka's victory that was painstakingly recapped in highlights footage for the whole of District 10 to "enjoy". Prelude to the Games began at 12:30.

In the middle of Home Economics, Moxie got fed up. They were learning to sew difficult patterns to put patches on torn clothing. Moxie's hands were shaking so much – part from anticipation, and part from their morning ritual on Games days which included going to school without eating. They'd feast later when the mandatory viewing was over, and perhaps they'd be toasting their Tributes who had survived, but with the hunger that gripped her, Moxie shook and stabbed her finger a number of times on accident. At last, she threw down her work and crossed her arms. Mrs. Tallhart ignored her, choosing to focus on other struggling students for that moment. Moxie looked out the window and recapped the previous evening's show in her head.

The highest training scores had gone to District 2: Knut scored 10, Flicka scored 9. District 3 had stunned the Gamesmaker and Panem by posting a 10 for Switch – the male Tribute that the announcers couldn't get enough of, and the one who made Moxie blush whenever his picture came up. The girls in the schoolyard – especially the older ones – were set on Switch winning the Games and were already planning on fighting each other to get a prime spot for him to see them when the Victory Tour came to District 10. That annoyed Moxie considerably because it was all for naught: these foolish girls were forgetting that in order to see Switch on the Victory Tour, two of their own kin would have to die, probably at his hand, first. None of that logic made her stop blushing when his picture came on the screen though. District 4's female Tribute, Otari, placed fourth in the scores with a solid 8; District 8's male Tribute, Gusset, shocked the announcers with an impressive 8, and the surprises continued as the rest of the Careers (Districts 1 and District 4's male Tribute) scored 8s as well. Moxie couldn't look at Lutris when his picture came up on the screen, simply because of how close he resembled that ranch-hand in her memory. Who was he? Where was he now? Probably eating a full meal courtesy the Ranches. Her stomach growled. District 10's Tributes, Seeder and Flaxie, had pulled a middle-of-the-pack score of 5 for each, which was worse than District 5 (Anawn scored a 7, Hidra a 6), District 7 (Froe and Labrys scored 6s), and Curia from District 3, who scored a marginally higher 5 than Seeder and Flaxie. But, they were also better than Kilin and Tempra from District 6 and Josamy, the female Tribute from 11 and Tiary, the female Tribute from 12 (scores of 3 each), Phen and Rouge from District 9 and Betel, the male Tribute from 11 (all scored 4s). Inby, the male Tribute from 12, scored a 2 to fall to the bottom of the leader board. Moxie worried that Flaxie and Seeder might have to kill the Tributes from 12 and 11 in order to have any chance, and she knew scores meant one thing but not everything. She concluded her day dreaming with the understanding that she wasn't ready for the Games to begin, nor did she want them to begin, because once they began and ended, her immunity from the Reaping was spent. She shivered thinking about Bess, who was put into the Games unnecessarily this year now that the rules had been changed. She replayed Romulus Cane's shocking announcement from the night before.

For almost twenty years, we've seen children as young as eleven years old combat teenagers as old as seventeen years. It has become clear to us that a child as young as eleven stands almost no chance of winning the Games, and yet if given another year to grown and learn and become stronger, we've seen twelve year olds make it all the way to the last four Tributes standing. Because of these years experiencing and experimenting, testing and concluding, President Snow and the Gamesmakers wish to unveil a rule change effective immediately after the first gong at the start of the 19th Annual Hunger Games. Henceforth, the earliest age of entry into the Hunger Games will be elevated to twelve years of age. Likewise, we've seen many seventeen year olds simply overpower their fellow Tributes because of their years of experience, their ability to grow stronger than the rest, and their knowledge of Hunger Games tactics from the older Hunger Games. To increase competition between the older Tributes, President Snow and the Gamesmakers wish to unveil another new rule effective immediately following the start of the 19th Annual Hunger Games. Henceforth, the oldest age of entry into the Hunger Games will be elevated to eighteen years of age. And until tomorrow, Happy Hunger Games and may the odds be ever in your favor.

Moxie's name was already in the reaping bowls three times, and Bess' was in there once. The odds were not in their favor, come the 20th Annual Hunger Games. Perhaps the odds were never in their favor to begin with.

The Capitol

The hour hand had climbed its way to the 12:30 mark. Atoka was dressed and made up, and she had a moment in the sitting room of their suite in the Training Center to sit with Flaxie and Seeder. In a few minutes, they would be called down to the basement of the Training Center, they would be separated by their make-up teams, taken to a private chamber, lifted into an aircraft, marked with their trackers, sedated most likely and carried off to the arena. Atoka would be escorted from the Training Center to the banquet hall where all the sponsors and District mentors would be mingling over a small feast provided by President Snow. They'd be a part of the live action of the Prelude to the Games airing in Districts 6, 8, 9, 11 and the Capitol. They'd be interviewed on the spot, talk about the chances their Tributes had, talk about how wonderful the Capitol was and how it was an honor to mentor a potential Victor of the 19th Annual Hunger Games, and they'd probably be asked about the new rules. Atoka remembered being reaped at age seventeen, gaining a ridiculously low score in training, being put on an island with five other Tributes and simply making it off the island by what she considered to be sheer dumb luck. How could she say anything hopeful for her own Tributes?

Seeder couldn't sit. He was about Denton's age when Denton went in at fifteen. Flaxie was older and she was seated and almost appeared to be completely still. Atoka took one of Flaxie's pale hands and rubbed it. "You've done so well this week, Flaxie. What happens next is supposed to freak you out. Just keep calm and wait for the gong when you're in the arena. Whatever the arena holds, find something you know how to use – a weapon or even a shoulder pack if that's within reach, and then find someplace to hide where you can see everyone else, but they can't see you."

"What if we're on an island like in your Games?" Seeder retorted forcefully.

"Islands usually have trees. You can try to climb a tree and wait out the initial bloodbath. Make sure you know who is the deadliest Tribute before the end of the day today, okay?" Seeder chuckled sarcastically.

"Yeah, okay, if we're still alive." Flaxie stomped her foot so suddenly that both Atoka and Seeder jumped.

"SEEDER, we can't think like that! We can survive today. Just listen to Miss Atoka and take note." Her voice dropped. "Anyway, this might be the last piece of advice we get." Atoka was preparing something to say when the escorts burst into the room and roughly pulled the two Tributes to their feet, pushing them toward the elevators. Seeder fought initially, but gave up. Flaxie never had the fight in her. Atoka followed them to the elevators and almost got in a farewell over Seeder's panicking and Flaxie's soft whimpering.

"Play hide-and-seek, you hear!" Was all that Atoka managed before the elevator doors slammed shut and the Tributes fell away from her view, shooting downward to the basement. In the suite, again, she collapsed. She had no certainty of their survival. She was no good at schmoozing with sponsors and she had nothing much to work with. But suddenly, her brain snapped into a strange sharp focus. She had to bring them home, no matter how little she had to work with, she had to make it work. One day at a time, she had to convince the Capitol's big wigs that these two, this brother and sister combination from dusty District 10 were worthy of winning their support through the Games.

Flaxie was sharp and smart, and Seeder was vicious in his fighting skills. He lacked strength but he had an overload of grit. He'd be a hard Tribute to count out, if he made it through the bloodbath today. Flaxie would be a good strategist for any team that might form in the arena. She'd be hard to count out if the Careers picked her up because she neither threatened them nor appeared useless to them. She alone could probably keep them alive with her cunning nature, but if she wasn't careful, she'd die before the end. With a new frame of mind, Atoka set to work thinking of how to sell these talents to the sponsors. She had several well versed speeches prepared when her escort arrived ten minutes later. With a winning smile, she followed them out of the Training Center for the last time in the 19th Annual Hunger Games.